Page 37 of The Money Shot

“Hey, I’m not gonna argue with that.” I half-smiled, and we shared a look that said we’d both chosen our professions...and sometimes regretted it.

Then, leaning in closer, David got to the real reason he was here. “Speaking of organs, if you’re still looking for a roommate, I might be able to save you a kidney or two on rent.”

I blinked, remembering I’d mentioned needing a roommate. “Oh, yeah—Bradley... uh, he moved out pretty suddenly. Got arrested, actually.”

David’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit! That’s crazy, man.” He shook his head with a smirk. “Anyway, if you’re still interested, I’d love to check the place out. Anything to escape the beige walls of my own sad little box.”

I looked at the mess on my desk—the budget proposals, spreadsheets, and Evelyn’s list of demands on my screen—and shrugged. It was only noon, but I’d had enough. “Yeah, sure, why not? Just let me finish up here, and we can head over to my place.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Liam

Ipaced back and forth across Bradley's old bedroom, the tension in my shoulders so tight it felt like I was wearing a too-small jacket. The room was dim, the blinds half-closed, casting striped shadows across the bed that had become my impromptu filming space. It still smelled faintly like Bradley's cologne—a sharp, woody scent that only added to the weirdness of the situation.

I couldn’t stop replaying @Monster69’s—photos in my head. After meeting Laura yesterday, I’d fallen down the rabbit hole of his online presence. His Reddit page was…impressive. Golden hair, broad chest, those sea-green eyes that practically screamed confidence. And here I was, a jittery mess, about to star in a video with someone who looked like they’d been hand-sculpted by a Roman god.

The worst part wasn’t even how intimidatingly good-looking he was. It was me. I was raised to believe intimacy was supposed to mean something—an extension of love, trust, connection. My parents, bless their overly traditional hearts, had drilled that into me from a young age. I’d rebelled here and there, but the few times I’d hooked up randomly, I’d always walked awayfeeling...wrong. Like I’d betrayed something fundamental about myself.

But rent was due. Jack couldn’t know. And I was running out of options.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I fumbled for it, hoping it wasn’t some last-minute cancellation that would leave me scrambling for money again.

@Monster69: OMG! Did you know we live in the same building? Me and my camera operator will be there in five minutes. Oh, and my real name is Cam.

Five minutes.

Five minutes until I was supposed to strip down, let some stranger touch me on camera, and somehow act like I knew what I was doing. I stared at the message, the words swimming on the screen, and my stomach churned.

My thumbs moved automatically, texting back:

Great. I’m ready when you are.

I was definitely not ready.

Wait—camera operator?

It hit me all at once. He wasn’t just bringing himself. He was bringing someone else. An audience.

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in on me. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and too fast. My legs wobbled as I stumbled to the bed and sank onto the edge, my head dropping between my knees.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself, voice shaking. “You can do this. It’s just…a job. People do this all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal.

I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. My heart was racing, each beat like a hammer against my ribs. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck, running down my back.

I tried to picture my bank balance. How much I needed the money that would come from this. Rent. Groceries. A tiny sliver of dignity when Jack inevitably asked if I was doing okay.

But all I could see was the look on my mom’s face if she ever found out.

I groaned, pressing my palms against my forehead. “Stop thinking about that,” I muttered. “Focus. Breathe.”

I glanced at my phone again, willing myself to send another message, maybe cancel the whole thing. But I didn’t. Instead, I stood up, straightened my shirt, and walked to the dresser mirror. My reflection looked as pale and frazzled as I felt, but I forced a smile.

“You’re gonna get through this,” I whispered.

The knock at the door echoed through the apartment, like the toll of a bell. My stomach dropped, but I forced my feet to move, one step at a time, until I was standing in front of the door.